The horses, being left to themselves, turned about and made for the Ohio shore, where Kenton was compelled to follow them.  Again he forced them into the water, and again they returned to the same spot, until Kenton became so exhausted by repeated efforts, as to be unable to swim.  What was to be done?

That the Indians would pursue them was certain.  That the horses would not and could not be made to cross the river in its present state, was equally certain.  Should they abandon their horses and cross on the raft, or remain with their horses and brave the consequence?  The latter alternative was adopted unanimously.  Death or captivity might be tolerated, but the loss of such a beautiful lot of horses, after working so hard for them, was not to be thought of for a moment.

Should they move up or down the river, or remain where they were?  The latter plan was adopted, and a more indiscreet one could hardly have been imagined.  They supposed that the wind would fall at sunset, and the river become sufficiently calm to admit of their passage; and, as it was thought probable that the Indians might be upon them before night, it was determined to conceal their horses in a neighboring ravine, while they should take their stations in the adjoining wood.

The day passed away in tranquility; but at night the wind blew harder than ever, and the water became so rough, that they would hardly have been able to cross on their raft.  As if totally infatuated, they remained where they were until morning; thus wasting twenty-four hours of most precious time in idleness.  In the morning, the wind abated, and the river became calm; but, it was now too late.  Their horses had become obstinate and intractible, and positively and repeatedly refused to take to the water.

Their masters at length determined to do what ought to have been done at first.  They severally resolved to mount a horse, and make the best of their way down the river to Louisville.  But their unconquerable reluctance to lose their horses overcame even this resolution.  Instead of leaving the ground instantly, they went back upon their own trail, in the vain effort to regain possession of the rest of their horses, which had broken from them in their last effort to drive them into the water.  They literally fell victims to their love for horseflesh.

They had scarcely ridden one hundred yards when Kenton, who had dismounted, heard a loud halloo.  He quickly beheld three Indians and one white man, all well mounted.  Wishing to give the alarm to his companions, he raised his rifle, took a steady aim at the breast of the foremost Indian, and drew the trigger.  His gun had become wet on the raft, and flashed.